out of the glorious city gate

a great throng came.

a mighty throng that swelled and grew

around a face that all men knew—

a man who bore a noted name—

gathered to listen to his fate.

the judge sat high. unbroken black

around, above, and at his back.

the people pressed for nearer place,

longing, yet shamed, to watch that face;

and in a space before the throne

the prisoner stood, unbound, alone.

so thick they rose on every side,

there was no spot his face to hide.

then came the herald, crying clear,

that all the listening crowd should hear;

crying aloud before the sun

what thing this fallen man had done.

he—who had held a ruler’s place

among them, by their choice and grace—

he—fallen lower than the dust—

had sinned against his public trust!

the herald ceased. the poet arose,

the poet, whose awful art now shows

to this poor heart, and heart of every one,

the horror of the thing that he had done.

“o citizen! dweller in this high place!

son of the city! sharer in its pride!

born in the light of its fair face!

by it fed, sheltered, taught, and glorified!

raised to pure manhood by thy city’s care;

made strong and beautiful and happy there;

loving thy mother and thy father more

for the fair town which made them glad before;

finding among its maidens thy sweet wife;

owing to it thy power and place in life;

raised by its people to the lofty stand

where thou couldst execute their high command;

trusted and honored, lifted over all,—

so honored and so trusted, didst thou fall!

against the people—who gave thee the power—

thou hast misused it in an evil hour!

against the city where thou owest all all—

thy city, man, within whose guarding wall

lie all our life’s young glories—ay, the whole!

the home and cradle of the human soul!

against thy city, beautiful and strong,

thou, with the power it gave, hast done this wrong!”

then rose the judge. “prisoner, thy case was tried

fairly and fully in the courts inside.

thy guilt was proven, and thou hast confessed,

and now the people’s voice must do the rest.

i speak the sentence which the people give:

it is permitted thee to freely live,

redeem thy sin by service to the state,

but nevermore within this city’s gate!”

back rolled the long procession, sad and slow,

back where the city’s thousand banners blow.

the solemn music rises glad and clear

when the great gates before them open near,

rises in triumph, sinks to sweet repose,

when the great gates behind them swing and close.

free stands the prisoner, with a heart of stone.

the city gate is shut. he is alone.